CHAPTER 1
Selucami. It was a key outer rim trading post planet that hosted a vast variety of species. The dry planet rose to strategic importance during the Clone Wars, being a stronghold of the confederacy of Independent Systems. Strategic battles had been fought in its atmosphere during the Galactic Civil War. The Yuuzhan Vong had arrived years later and conquered the place. Today, a different, down-scale, more local conflict was taking place. The remote location had become a place for the recluses and outcasts of every galactic species to retreat to and make their own version of their parent society. Every offshoot faction of every culture and religious group had found a planet. From one of these entrenched communities came a distress call. And that was why he was here.
Kibol Diran, Jedi knight, made his way hastily towards the noisy tumult. Twenty two standard years old and strongly built, he ran towards his mark with an air of purpose about him. He drew on the Force to enhance every step, adding meters to every long stride.
He'd traded his Jedi robes for a more mobile, desert friendly garb. His pants and upper garments were made of lightweight breathable weave, loose around the thighs. His ankles were wrapped from knee to heel with elastic banding to support his ankles. His forearms and wrists all the way to the palms of his hands were wrapped with the same material. His finger protruded from the wrap like fleshy talons. A heavy scarf was wrapped around his shoulders and head leaving only a slit for his eyes to see through. His tinted slim-line goggles were banded in place over his eyes, protecting them from the wind and sands. His utility belt was a study in simplicity. A holster for his comlink in front, and in the small of his back, an expandable utility sack with a one hundred meter slim-cable wound within. On each hip was clipped a lightsaber that swung with each stride. His appearance didn't matter as much today since he wasn't representing The Order today.
The dry, crater-pocked landscape stretched out before him. The oddly shaped rock rises broke up the monotony of the flat desert. There were occasional vegetation oases that served as civilization bases for the many immigrant species of beings that jumped on and off the world. The frequent falls of meteors carved many large bowls in the arid earth; some the size of a speeder, others large enough to house a small family. Still, others were large enough to use as makeshift water reservoirs and rock quarries.
The one Kibol was approaching now was one of the really big ones. It was the size of a Strikesport stadium. Nearly perfectly circular, and half a kilometer deep, arena seating was carved out into the sloping walls. Tunnels were excavated in eight evenly spaced compass locations and spidered out into interconnecting subterranean tunnels and pathways.
The scaled a low wall that surrounded the underground stadium and peered over the yellow/green heads of what seemed to be several hundreds of Skakoans. They thundered and roared in their native tongue. The vocoders each spoke through made the ruckus sound like a monotone electronic buzz. They pounded their arms in the air and would intermittently unite in a short mantra, a recital, Kibol guessed, that made this sound like a religious service of sorts.
Seating was only available in a semicircle, about 300 degrees. The unaltered segment of the round wall was left unaltered. His eyes followed the onlookers to this center of attention where a large, loosely improvised statue of a quadruped animal reared up and stood on its hind legs. It was covered in a white powder, providing contrast for the statue against the tan brown Selucami sands. The head was oversized and awkward and in the middle of its bulk was a shining blue orb. It was obviously a likeness of the Skakoan deity, the Albino Cyclops. Apparently, this colony of Skakoans had brought some vestige of their old world with them to settle here.
But then Kibol saw what he came all these light years to find. Directly in front of the statue was a thick stone pillar, approximately four meters high. An anchor on the top was attached to a heavy metal chain, which was attached to an uncomfortable looking pair of manacles. These were attached to Weena Venjournic. Twenty standard years old, she was Arkanian, of the offshoot variety. Her mixed ancestry was more human and thus her skin was more pink than the traditional pale complexion their offshoots were know for. She had straight white hair, long and flapping in the wind. She was barefoot, and her long skirt and upper garments were torn. Kibol couldn't make out the face from this distance, but women of her description were rare around the galaxy.
She was on her knees, head resting against the pillar, arms bound and raised above her head. Her shoulders sagged in the middle. She was a captive on display for the whole congregation of Skakoans to glare at … but why? He hoped that this wasn't what it looked like, a being sacrifice to their stone god. She looked alive and just possibly resting in a posture that made her appear to be praying to the stone deity. Perhaps he could find the leader of the group, find out what happened, and negotiate her release.
Kibol paused a moment. Here he was again, trying to come up with a way to save Weena; the local militia on Scavronah, the geneticist on Arkania, that run-in with the security on Malachor. She was a magnet for trouble. And he was her iron savior all the time, just as drawn to her, but for different reasons. Everytime he rescued his … friend … or whatever she was to him … she swore to him that it'd never happen again. If just once she'd meant it …
His thoughts were cut off by a low rumbling noise. The floor in the center of the stadium opened up. Sand sunk in as a metal door slid to the side revealing a ramp trailing down into the dry ground. Large foot falls were heard, a primal growl radiated out of the hole and filled the stadium.
Instead of a thunderous roar of applause in response, the crowd went strangely silent. A Skakoan stood up in the apex of the seating arc and lifted his hands. His pressure suit was splashed with blue and yellow dyes and he had a more ornate face mask than the rest. He spoke authoritatively in Skakoform. The crowd repeated the phrase and lifted their hands as well in unison. Their vocoders buzzing in response sounded like a swarm of insects.
During the ruckus, sand bloomed up out of the hole in the ground. A red/grey blur shot out of the cloud, huffing, snorting and galloping in a berserker fashion. The creature's head was colored a deep red, the torso and legs were light grey. Its skin was so course and rough, and appeared to have stones embedded in it. The three horns that jutted out of its head, one curving up from its snout, the other two arcing out from the sides, were a threat to anything unfortunate enough to run too slow … or to be chained helplessly to a stone pillar during feeding time.
"Aw man, A Reek!" Kibol moaned to himself. I guess it was too late to negotiate. He needed to act. Weena was in need of another rescue, and fast.
When the dust settled, the animal bayed loudly announcing its presence to all enemies and predators. But it could see none, except the lightly toned humanoid chained to the pole on the other side of the arena. The flapping of her torn skirt and hair in the wind enraged the beast and it aimed its horn directly at her and charged.